Gravity
by Lady Lithe
Summary: “Do you believe in destiny, Harry?” “I don’t want to.” H/G


By: Lady Lithe

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Summary: "Do you believe in destiny, Harry?" "I don't want to."

Naru-chan: Wow, so...loooong hiatus! But look, I come bearing lovely, (fluffy?) goods! Gosh, it's been a while. I hope my writing has improved by some weird miracle. I know I'm supposed to say something witty and smart and cool here, but my head just doesn't work that way. But thank you all who were patiently waiting and reminding me to review. Thank you. Anyway, H/G. It's good to be back. :)

* * *

Gravity 

_By my side  
You'll never be,  
By my side  
You'll never be._

'_Cause I'm fake at the seams,  
Lost in my dreams,  
And I want you to know  
That I can't let you go._

_-Unkle Bob, __Swans_

He thought it was wiser not to tell her because it would cause them a lot of unnecessary pain — particularly pain that he would receive not only from Ron, but also from her five other brothers. That wasn't the only pain he feared because frankly, he could brave any beating (however bloody) for her sake. After all, pain was like an old friend waiting for him down the street. A Dudley-Malfoy-Snape-Voldemort combination of sorts.

As much as he wanted to tell her, it was for the best that he didn't. One day he was going to leave her. It wouldn't be fair and it would also make leaving a thousand times harder than before because he would know that he was walking away from the best thing in his life. If he didn't say it out loud, it was like he wasn't acknowledging the truth, or as if it weren't true. Which it was. But not saying it allowed him to pretend for a little while that it wasn't.

There were times when Hermione would give him those looks. Those…_knowing_looks. It was the way her eyes glinted, her eyebrows twitched, and her lips quirked upward. It irritated him to no end. Sometimes he just wanted to scream at her. What did she know about the way he felt? What did she know about how these feelings that were wrenching him apart? What did she know about _anything_? Then there were times when he would jump out of a daze while staring at _her_ to find Hermione staring at him. His ears red, he figured she might know a thing or two…

But no, despite her knowing looks, Hermione didn't understand. He knew this when she suddenly spoke to him as he gazed far off to where _she_ was. She had her knees against her chest, her hands idly braiding her flaming red hair. Sometimes she would throw her head back and laugh, her entire body shaking with laughter. She was so full of life. If he let her, she could become life. His life.

"Tell her," Hermione said quietly, her brown eyes following the direction of his green ones.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He averted his gaze to his blotchy parchment. "Scribble scribble," went his guilty quill.

"Yes, you do," Hermione replied wryly. She had a way of being both stern and smart at the same time.

"Hermione," he said curtly, "drop it."

"But—" she began in her reproachful voice.

"No, Hermione."

"Harry, if this is about how you just _love _to torment yourself by being alone, I'm going to tell you that you above everyone else deserve this. _She_ deserves this."

He scoffed unbelievingly, his words coming out rougher than he expected. "You're one to talk, acting all high and mighty."

She flinched. "What do you mean?"

"You don't even understand the situation and there you are jumping to conclusions already. You don't even know why I'm not saying anything. You don't know why I'm trying so hard to keep this under wraps. You don't have to feel any of this torment. And yet you feel you can preach to me about being open and honest when _you haven't had the courage to do it either_." The look on her face almost made him regret opening his mouth. Almost. He grabbed his bag and shoved his belongings inside. "I'm leaving."

"W-Wait…please," she said softly, her hand reaching out to him as he rose.

He looked down at her pleading face. He loved Hermione. Loved her like a sister. Maybe that was what kept him from shoving her hand off his arm. He took a deep breath to compose himself. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

"I'm sorry…" he breathed.

Her fingers gently smoothed away the wrinkles of his robes. "I know. I am sorry too. I have no right to muddle in your business…"

"You don't," he agreed, watching surprise flash on her face, but then he smiled wryly, "but that never stopped you before, has it?"

Hermione chuckled softly, rising herself. To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close into an embrace. Awkwardly, he felt the initial instinct to pull away, but gradually relaxed and patted her on the back. She buried her face deep into his shoulder. The mass of cinnamon curls brushed against his face.

"I just…I just want you to be happy. I want the two of you to be happy. That's all. Maybe I'm too selfish," her voice spoke quietly into his ear.

"Hermione…"

"I thought if you told her, then I…I could tell him. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

If he closed his eyes, it was no longer Hermione, but her. It was her in his arms. Her holding him. Her…

But no, he couldn't imagine that because she had never held him before.

"It's okay," he said impassively, his eyes moving back toward where she was. He could have sworn that her eyes had quickly darted away from his, back onto her friends. He watched her place a hand on Neville's arm and giggle. He watched as pink crept up Neville's cheeks. He watched the way Neville smiled at her. Watched the way Neville watched her. Maybe Neville will know what it was like to hold her. Maybe he already does. "It doesn't matter anyway."

His voice sounded flat to his own ears.

* * *

Sometimes when he wasn't careful, he would think of her. No, it was more like she would flood into his mind. Smiles, laughter, flowers. Something so tangible, yet so distant. 

Sometimes he hated himself for thinking of her because it filled him with such yearning, such happiness that it made him want more and more and more. He didn't want just to watch her anymore when he thought of her. His firm resolve would crumple before his very eyes, and he hated himself for that, and sometimes he hated her for it too.

Except there were other times. Times when he was so happy and grateful that he had something like this. He had her, despite all the odds, despite his fame, despite his fate. Some days it made life worth living because those days he didn't have to think of his name. He would just be him and she would just be her and together, they would have something so wonderfully normal that he would forget. Just for a moment, he would forget that out there he had a job: to kill or be killed. When he thought about that, he figured thinking of her was such a relief that it was okay.

* * *

He didn't know how it happened. He hadn't expected anything, and if he had he would have immediately quelled those hopes. As it was, he had not been hoping anything when he decided at six P.M. that he had had enough of his revisions. He then decided that a promenade wouldn't be a bad idea: stretch his legs and arms, breathe some fresh air, erase any traces of her in his mind he had not been able to block even through Potions and Transfigurations. A walk, all in all, had not been a bad idea. 

It was just that he had not intended to see her there, sitting quietly on a stone, seductively alone. He wanted to quickly turn and leave her be, to stop the pounding in his chest, but he could no longer control his legs. He couldn't help but stare, taking her in again and again and again. Her red hair billowing in the night air, her black robe embracing her slender form, her eyes gazing straight out into the pitch black lake that sparkled with the stars and the moon…

Then she turned, catching sight of him. Her pale face lit up, and his heart quivered. She spoke, beckoning.

"Harry."

Shivers danced down his spine. Wiser not to tell, should not tell, must not tell, he reminded himself even as he moved closer to her, knowing that he should not. Knowing he should be running the other way. But something always pulled him toward her and there was nothing he could do about it.

"What are you doing out here so late?" he asked gruffly. He shoved his hands into his pockets for fear of them reaching out to her without his consent.

"Can't a girl enjoy the moonlight without being interrogated?" Her eyes gleamed mischievously, and he fought the urge to lecture her on the dangers of a girl like herself being alone at night. Saying that would only make roll her eyes and prompt that she didn't need another brother. And the last thing he wanted was for her to think of him as one.

She moved slightly and patted the now free space on the rock beside her. He eyed it warily, making her laugh.

"I'm fine standing."

"Come on," she teased, "I won't bite."

_But I might._ He balled his hands into fists as he sat next to her, careful not to actually touch her in any way.

Silence, awkward, but not quite, settled over them. He liked that there were times like this in his life when he was with someone who didn't want or expect anything more from him than his company. She was always like that. Maybe even when he had been blind and dismissed her, she had never expected anything more from him than himself. No one else was like that. Hermione was constantly trying to improve him, make him better, perhaps ready him for his journey. Ron was great, but Ron believed that he was always seeking glory of some sort. Ron was always a little jealous and Ron never understood.

Before, he had told himself that even if he couldn't have her, couldn't tell her, he could at least grant himself permission to be with her. Her presence was always such a comfort, like a warm blanket that he never had. She didn't have to say or do anything and it would be enough. He never felt this way about anyone else. Maybe once with Sirius, maybe once with Dumbledore, but that was different. Very different.

But now he could barely stand being within twelve feet of her because that yearning would stop gnawing and start tearing away at him steadily. Fire burned through his veins, and sometimes he felt a little mad being with her.

"You…" he spoke without realizing it.

"I?" She turned, giving him her full attention. He almost wished she didn't because his eyes automatically drew to her lips, to her honey smile. A taste…just a small taste. His stomach clenched unbearably.

He looked away. He didn't want to ask because he doesn't want to know, but he does anyway. "Were you meeting anyone out here?"

_Neville?_

He felt her gaze on him for a moment before she responded lightly. "No, I was just all here by my lonesome self, waiting for no one, but you came."

"Oh," he said, feeling relieved and a little bit foolish, but decides not to say anything else lest to make himself even more foolish. He doesn't want to ruin this. Whatever _this_ is.

She stretches her long legs (how could they be so long when she was so small?) and dips them into the dark water. He watched, mesmerized. She lightly kicks and the black water moves, dances to her whim. She was like that, he thought, always placing herself in places and situations in which she shouldn't be. In which he shouldn't be. And the worst (or best) part was that she did it so willingly.

She was free.

That was it… She was free. Her smile, her movements…everything was done with a fresh air of freedom, free will. She had a choice. At any moment, she could spread her wings and fly. He…he could jump onto his amazing broom and he could never catch up. Because he wasn't free. The chains around his neck choked him. He wanted to cry out her, _Wait, wait, please! Don't leave me behind!_ But he couldn't do that. If he did…then she would be trapped, chained with him. That wasn't what he wanted. He had no choice and he refused to steal hers from her. She has a choice, a life, perhaps one day a love. He has his prophecy.

He couldn't be here anymore. He didn't deserve to be here. She was too close; he could smell the sweet scent of flowers in the air. He rose to leave, but her hand shot out and took hold of his sleeve. Her soft words slice through the silence.

"Do you believe in destiny, Harry?"

Her whispers were like petals.

"I don't want to."

"No?"

"No."

"But you do, don't you? Regardless of wanting to or not wanting to."

There was a beat, perhaps one of lingering bitterness. Then — "Yes."

She loosened her hold. Here was his chance to go, to flee. But instead, he turned to look at her again. One more time, he told himself, one last time. But he knew those were lies because he would always, always, always watch her. There was a soft smile on her lips and a quiet look in her eyes. Quiet, but fierce.

"I…do not believe in destiny." Her voice was firm, but why did it seem to tremble? She turned and stared at him. Could it be that she was (has been?) taking him in too?

"What is it you believe in?" he breathed, his heart shaking.

"I believe in you. And I believe in me. I believe in _this_, throbbing inside of me. Harry —"

"No, don't. Don't say my name. It's a curse!"

"No…" she whispered, stress vibrating in the air. "Your name changes nothing."

"It's not that simple," he choked. "It's that name…that destiny…because of it I… You have a choice and I won't take it from you."

"Yes, it's my choice, but I never really had one because whether I wanted to or not, I chose you!" she cried, pressing a hand to her chest.

"You only say now that you believe in us."

"Don't tell me you don't." Her fingers grasped his robes tightly.

"Ginny, please —"

"Don't tell me you can't. Don't tell me that you believe in something else; Don't tell me it's not safe; Don't tell me it's for my sake; Don't tell me it's not wise! Don't tell me that some day you'll leave me and you won't know if you'll ever come back!_Just tell me the words that you won't tell me!_"

He can't anymore.

Because he wanted to cry, because he wanted to hurt someone, because he wanted to release everything, because he was tired of the burden of the world, because he didn't want to be anyone's hero, because he wants to tell her more than anything, because he wants her, because he _needs_ her, he followed his instincts. And then he was grabbing her, pressing her warm body against his, pulling her toward him just the way she pulls him in, and he kissed her, she's holding him, wrapping her arms around him, tasting like sunlight and flowers and everything good and before they know it, they've broken apart, breathing raggedly.

"Did you hear it?" he rasps, his green eyes insecure.

For one terrifying moment he thinks she's going to cry, but then she suddenly smiles, breathing in intervals, her heart thudding against her chest.

"Yes."

* * *

Naru-chan: What did you think? I hope you liked it. I hope you understood why I didn't use their names but only used "he" and "she." Well, if you don't, just ask and I will explain. Please review! It's been a long time so I'm insecure about my writing all over again. Heh. Anything, criticism, comments, or compliments would be fine. Thank you! 


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